If you are not a
Star Wars nerd, you just cannot understand what that line does to us —
especially when it’s followed by the blast of a full symphonic horn section and
those scrolling white letters drifting across a dark space screen.
On May 25, 1977,
the world changed.
Well… it took a
few extra weeks for the Force to reach South Mississippi, but eventually it
landed at the Ritz Theater in downtown Picayune, and this 13-year-old girl was
sitting in a packed house completely mesmerized by lightsabers, romance,
adventure, stormtroopers, and a walking carpet named Chewbacca.
If only I could
go back and be so full of wonder at a movie again!
I cannot fully
explain why I became such a Star Wars nerd, but I was hooked, so much so that I
even named my second child Luke.
Enough said.
Fast forward
several decades, and honestly, I had become disappointed with much of the newer
Star Wars universe. Disney seemed more interested in reinventing the franchise
than respecting the loyal fans who built it. Still, like a true addict, I kept
watching anyway.
My attitude had
settled comfortably into “meh.”
Then The Mandalorian debuted.
And at the very
end of the first episode, everything changed.
A tiny green
child with pointy ears appeared on the screen.
The internet
immediately named him Baby Yoda before we eventually learned his real name was
Grogu.
Whoever
designed that little creature deserved a raise, a bonus, and probably their own
private island.
Disney spent
millions figuring out how to make people fall in love with Grogu.
Money well
spent.
Once people
discovered I loved the little feller, an epidemic of giving broke out.
Suddenly Grogu
gifts started appearing everywhere.
Grogu socks
showed up on my desk at work.
A Grogu lanyard.
A phone holder.
A Pez dispenser.
A stuffed doll.
A gigantic cereal box with his face on it.
My friend wonderfully created me one from fabric.
My poor family
— poor as dirt— started buying me Grogu T-shirts, hats, blankets, and anything
else with those giant ears printed on it.
My sweet
janitors at work gave me two giant soft Grogu blankets.
My boss bought me a metallic Grogu puzzle that was assembled…to complicated!
And my second-born spent way too much money
on a collector’s artwork piece for a Christmas gift.
The first Christmas after Grogu appeared was
complete chaos because Disney had barely released any merchandise yet. They
were terrified spoilers would leak, so the few items available were expensive
and impossible to find.
My husband,
determined not to pay high prices, proudly handed me a “Baby Yoda” gift that
turned out to simply be… regular Yoda as a baby.
Strong effort.
Wrong creature.
Maybe I need
grandkids? Maybe this green child is filling a void my ancient self needs.
So yes… when
the movie with Mando & Grogu went on sale, I bought mine two months early.
I sat in the
theater surrounded by fellow Star Wars fans, buttery popcorn in hand, sipping a
sugar-free Coke, fully prepared for adventure.
I even got my
very own Hutt sitting next to me! A very large Hutt-sized man sitting beside me
and overlapping the boundary of armrest was enjoying the movie. Unfortunately, periodically
he would fall asleep and snore loud enough to shake nearby planets.
Honestly, it
added to the experience.
Now, has Star
Wars lived up to my expectations over the years?
No.
But The Mandalorian reminded me of something
important.
Star Wars was
never really about flawless plots, perfect writing, or whether fans approve of
every storyline.
Back in 1977,
it was about wonder.
Adventure.
Escapism.
For two hours,
you could forget bills, stress, politics, work, and bad knees and simply
disappear into another galaxy.
And honestly?
That is still
pretty magical.
Although, now it takes a full days paycheck
to purchase the popcorn and drink!!!
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